


like a kite (but not in purple)

by twopinchesofcinnamon



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Character Study, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, and also hates the color purple, and also very strong, autistic!kenma, kenma is a sweetie, kites, kuroo is a really amazing friend, not bad though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-08
Updated: 2019-12-08
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:02:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21714223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twopinchesofcinnamon/pseuds/twopinchesofcinnamon
Summary: Kuroo and Kenma fly kites together twice, and they grow up in between.(Or: how Kuroo comes to understand Kenma and all his idiosyncrasies).
Relationships: Kozume Kenma & Kuroo Tetsurou
Comments: 5
Kudos: 61





	like a kite (but not in purple)

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve been watching a lot of shows and reading up on articles centered around autism, and I noticed some of the mannerisms associated with it are present in Kenma. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Kuroo and Kenma fly kites together as soon as they both can ride a bike (and yes, Kenma learns a little later than his friend, but not too far after. That's just how things are with them: Kuroo slithers through life like a brilliant whirlwind, and Kenma teeters behind, calculating, processing—but he always catches up eventually).

The kites are makeshift and minuscule—a gaggle of mismatched string colors and paper that ties together in the most random of spots, but Kenma made them, so they're the single most amazing things Kuroo has ever seen.

He ties them down to the fraying handles of each bike, and starts off with a giggle. Kenma follows after, dinging his bronze bell five times and muttering multiple "wait for me's". The soft sounds poke the air like the smallest pinprick needles.

The sun dips deeper into the sky, forcing the theme of the evening to shift. When Kuroo's kite hits the light wrong, it gleams lavender, which grates on Kenma, so they stop so that he can cover it up with brown leaves (brown is much more acceptable—not as good as yellow, but close. Kuroo knows this after years of living adjacent to Kenma, who doesn't own a single item close to purple). They use bendy, grey-ish sticks to tie the leaves to the kites, and it wobbles tremendously against the fair breeze.

Kenma's tiny smile is worth the nasty looks from all the people whom their new contraption bumps into, and while they ride home, Kuroo hums soft and deep—just the way Kenma likes it.

•••

Kuroo realizes around ten years old that Kenma is happiest in the autumn.

It's not a monumental change by any means, but his friend's idiosyncratic movements tend to lean towards comfort instead of restlessness the closer the seasons ease into cold. His greater demons calm and begin to hibernate, their grips fruitless until flowers bloom vertigo in the spring.

Today, for example, they trudge home from school together after a harrowing day of social interactions that would normally have Kenma in a frenzy (show and tell; and he got called on _twice_ ).

Instead he pads home adjacent next to Kuroo, intently listening to the _crunch_ of leaves beneath his worn sneakers. The glimmer in his golden eyes is that of concentration, so rather than hum reassuringly, Kuroo maintains his pace on the sidewalk and avoids every other crack.

"Pole," Kuroo warns at the turn onto the juncture of their street; Without acknowledging the words, Kenma expertly steps out and back into position, just so that he avoids the stop sign while not letting the balls of his feet hit the pavement.

"Cleared," Kenma says, after he's fully passed the obstacle. His eyes still track his feet.

"I thought show and tell would've bothered you more," Kuroo comments as they continue, "Another pole. You did well today, though—I really liked your story about the humpback whales. Just, you seem like you're having fun."

"How so?" Kenma withers in on himself a little after dodging the post, as if he's done something wrong; he rubs his pointer finger against his middle one, seemingly nervous.

"No, no, it's a good thing!" Kuroo reassures, and his friend thankfully straightens again, "I'm just wondering what's got you in such a good mood. Here's the driveway."

Kenma finally tilts his chin up, pausing, and cocks his head in a cat-like manner, as if Kuroo has asked the strangest question in the world.

"It's the fifth."

_Ah._

Kuroo doesn't know in the slightest what that means, but he decides it's probably better not to question further.

"Right. Well, I'm glad this day is good for you," he says, completely genuine.

Kenma's lips twitch upwards (which he has come to associate with "thank you"), and Kuroo's own face splits into a wide simper. He walks Kenma to the door and waves his goodbye.

"The fifth," he mutters to himself as he rounds the block to his own house, "I'll have to remember that."

•••

In middle school, Kuroo finds that volleyball calms Kenma like nothing else.

His subtle fidgeting (not noticeable like shifting from foot to foot or bouncing a leg up and down—Kenma's unrest lies in his lean fingers, always pressing against each other) quells itself on the court. He steels himself, every movement perfectly timed so that each spiker receives optimal opportunity. Even during their year apart, Kenma manages to play well enough on the middle school team as Kuroo adjusts to his new setting.

And, come his high school debut, Kenma makes friends easier than Kuroo would have ever given him credit for with his introverted personality.

The first on the team is Yaku, who almost treats Kenma like his own child from the moment he meets him. They share a mutual love for an obscure indie video game that Kuroo's never heard of, and Yaku is always patient when Kenma can't manage to string sentences together during their hang-outs.

Yamamoto is scary to begin with, but Kenma tells Kuroo one day that he's the easiest to toss to by far, because he'll hit it from anywhere. After a while, Kuroo finds that he can catch the two making idle conversation in between drills, and Yamamoto doesn't mind filling in the gaps where Kenma is quiet.

A year passes, and Kenma befriends Inuoka, who “smiles like the sun”. Kuroo sometimes takes Kenma for ice cream after a particularly hard practice, and Kenma shocks him by asking if if the energetic first year can tag along. Eventually, Yuki joins that circle of people whom Kenma feels comfortable with, and so do the other first years.

And, after a harrowing number of missed tosses, Kenma reluctantly warms up to Lev too, even if he won't admit it.

Kenma finds a certain peace in volleyball, but only the Nekoma team can cause him to smile (or, at least crinkle his brow happily) the way he does now.

•••

At some point, Kuroo opts to maintain a careful mental list pertaining to his best friend. This is what he has so far:

Kenma loves the number five, autumn, video games, yellow, sometimes volleyball, and also kites (but only homemade ones, not the plastic-y type from convenience stores).

He hates purple, weather over ninety degrees, and overly tight clothing because it makes his skin feel too small ("like a cocooning caterpillar, but not the cool kind with the fuzz—the boring green ones with the twisted legs." Kuroo gets this, since certain shades of green are almost as bad as purple).

Kenma has never actually outright said any of these things, but Kuroo understands them whenever his friend's disposition brightens with a simple change in color (hence, the weekend they spent painting his lime walls a soft yellow) or how it plummets during the hottest days of the summer (Kuroo has learned to store extra ice packs in his lunch box for Kenma to stuff under his baggy clothing, which for the most part works well).

And, amidst trying to give his best friend a world he deserves (because really, Kenma does the same for him by saving him the raisins in trailmix or letting their microwave popcorn burn a little bit since it's Kuroo's favorite smell), Kuroo sometimes forgets that not everyone will be as understanding towards his unique reactions.

Kenma takes the bullying that comes second year in stride.

He lets his hair fall over his eyes like a built-in canopy and stares down, just as he always has, and keeps walking. The words that scratch at his skin hardly seem to cause any damage ( _freak, freak, why won't he say anything, freak_ ), and sometimes it honestly feels like he can't hear them at all.

It's when they start mentioning Kuroo that he starts to crumble.

Kenma falters when they jab at him, calling him " _the lost puppy, trailing behind him—pathetic_."

" _How can he put up with that nuisance? The short brunette; he's always wearing sweaters and staring at the concrete_."

" _He'd have more friends if he wasn't always with that Kozume kid_."

At some point, the chipped edges begin to spiderweb, and Kenma snaps in his own way. He doesn't yell or cry like most people do in these kind of situations.

Simply, Kuroo bikes home from school one day, and when he gets home, Kenma is _quiet_.

It's not an change worth noting on the outside. Kenma's quiet is unnerving and incredibly difficult to pick up on, but Kuroo spends enough time studying his friend to know a comfortable silence from a forced one. And, as Kenma's delicate fingers flick across his banana-hue DS, Kuroo picks up on the stiffness of his movements and how he deliberately sits in the ugly one-seater (another thing Kenma hates; "it's like a lump of dull clay" supposedly).

"Kenma?" Kuroo starts softly, "Are you alright?"

Kenma nods his head, jerky and jarring, and it's a far cry from his usual lazy twitch and grunt (in Kuroo's mind, at least).

He's not okay, evidently, but Kenma hardly responds to a question he doesn't want to answer, so Kuroo settles himself into his usual couch nook and picks up the remote, switching on some lighthearted cartoon for while he does his homework. Kenma jimmies away at the joystick on his game, lips pursed in concentration and an unfamiliar intensity.

Towards the latter end of the evening, as Kuroo wraps up the final paragraph of his essay, Kenma lifts his arms up in a yawn, and his arms don that purple color he despises so much.

Like a shot of adrenaline, white-hot anger flows into Kuroo's bloodstream.

"What the _hell_ is that?!" he demands, pointing at a largely splattering of bruises on Kenma's wrists, only visible due to the movement of his loose sweater.

Kenma hastily pulls his sleeves down and grunts, moving his face closer to the game and rubbing his fingers together.

"Kenma," Kuroo lowers his voice, "Kenma, I know you can hear me. Did someone do that to you?"

He already knows the answer; Kenma is a lot of things, but clumsy is not one of them. His friends deliberate avoidance of eye contact only confirms the theory.

"Those fuckers," Kuroo growls dangerously, standing up, "Is it the guy who kept calling you 'freak' last week? I _knew_ I should've walked home with you today. I already told him to back off, and I swear I don't care how many friends he has with him because I'll hit him so hard he won't be able to—"

"Stop it!"

Kuroo quits his aggressive pacing and realizes just how loud his voice had gotten. Kenma is covering his ears, pressing like he's trying to squeeze his own head until it pops, and scrunching his eyes closed. He's shivering a little (and Kuroo has seen this a handful of times before during firework shows and in bustling crowds. It pains him immensely, though, because _he_ caused this reaction).

Immediately Kuroo deflates, cursing himself forgetting Kenma's sensitivity to loud noises. He gingerly walks over to his friend and kneels at his feet, apologetic.

"Hey, hey, I'm sorry," he says, even though Kenma can't hear, and places his hand on the armrest.

Kenma opens his eyes at the pressure by his arm. Kuroo continues as if handling a delicate animal, since he knows that things could either diffuse or escalate very quickly from this point.

"I didn't mean to get so worked up. The thought of those dickbags hurting you just really pisses me off," he says, relieved as Kenma's hands relax, "You know you're my best friend, right? I'll protect you no matter which single-minded no-good assholes come at us. But I need you to tell me when these things happen."

Kenma lowers his arms into his lap and prods at Kuroo's cheek, swiping away a stray tear. Funny, since Kuroo hadn't even noticed he was crying.

"I don't need you to protect me."

Kuroo blinks, surprised at the steadiness of his voice, "What?"

"I don't need you to protect me. They," Kenma pauses, tracing the blot of greenish purple peeking out from under his sweater cuff, "They were provoked. They kept saying that you didn't really want to be friends with me and that it was all pity. That our entire friendship is pity."

Kuroo stiffens, angry again, but more worried that his friend may have been sitting on these insecurities without his knowledge, "Which is not _fucking_ true! You know that, right?"

"Of course," (thankfully) Kenma says firmly, "But then they started saying they'd go after you and teach them what happens to people who are friends with people like me."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Kuroo snarls.

Kenma levels him with a blank stare, as if Kuroo justisn’t understanding him, "Autistic. He meant that you should not hang out with an autistic kid."

 _"Fucking—_ He said that!?"

"Something like it."

"I'm gonna kill hi—okay, sorry, sorry. But you said they were provoked right?"

Kenma fiddles with his thumbs, mumbling, "I poured my drink on him."

"You what?"

"I poured...I poured my drink on him."

Kuroo gapes at the sick hilarity of imagining his best friend—the Kozume Kenma—pouring a drink on some towering bully. He cannot believe it.

"So you just—what? Tossed a water bottle over this guy—"

"A sports drink."

"Huh?" Kuroo processes this, and then laughs, disbelieving, "A sports drink? So you ruined his clothes?"

Kenma smirks a little, which Kuroo has never seen before and is positively delighted by, but he still has a few more questions.

"So, how did you get the bruises?" Kuroo asks, tone darkening again, "Did he go out looking for you?"

Kenma shakes his head, strands of hair kissing his nose, "No, he just reacted to me pouring the drink, but a teacher stopped anything else. He gripped my arm hard, and I bruise easily."

"Yeah. You do," Kuroo feels a sense of relief in that Kenma wasn't cornered against his will, and remembers all of the times Kenma fell on his bike and has the marks to show for full months, "But—last question—why were you upset when I got home? You don't seem particularly bothered by the bullying."

Kenma's eyelids form a sinking glare, and his fingers twitch a little, "He said he was going go after you to punish me for messing with him. And that he would bring his friends."

Kuroo's eyebrows shoot up. He's strangely touched by the sentiment of Kenma's concern.

"Well," he says, pressing a reassuring hand over Kenma's, "If that's all you're worried about, there's nothing to fear! I could take that kid any day, and we have the team on our side. Lev could probably pummel at least half of the Nekoma third years."

Kenma lets out a full scowl at the mention of their tactless first-year, "Not Lev. Yaku."

Kuroo cackles at that, "You're right. Yaku will knock the lights out of any bullies who come after us. And then he'll also punch Lev for good measure," he hums comfortingly for a moment, "Hey, you know what this means?"

Kenma cocks his head.

"It means we're gonna have to stick together if we want to avoid trouble," Kuroo smiles for real, holding out his fist, "Promise we'll do that?"

Kenma brushes his fingertips lightly over the knuckles and powers up his game for another round, holding out a second device for Kuroo.

"It's what we've always done."

•••

Kuroo is an anticipator.

He analyzes and executes based on the data he gathers. It's a skill that aides him well both in life and volleyball (which are starting to become synonymous at this point).

He does not, however, anticipate coming home to Kenma playing games with Karasuno’s Shrimpy.

Lev he can handle; the boy knows how to shut up every once in a while, despite his impressive ability to indirectly insult everyone around him. But never in a million years would Kuroo think this ball of kinetic energy in front of him would be close friends with _Kenma._

"So, Kenma, are you going to introduce me?" he drawls, having been standing here for a couple minutes, “Hello? Kozume?”

"You met him in that practice match."

Kuroo rolls his eyes, "Yeah, well this is different. I've been calling him 'Shrimpy' since then and you haven't bothered to correct me—"

" _Hey_!" the orange-haired kid snaps, eyes never leaving the screen of the game he and Kenma are clicking away at, "Don't call me that!"

"Well if someone would tell me what your name actually is, Number Ten, then maybe I would," he watches as the kid groans at a display of text on his computer screen.

"Damn it, Kenma! I haven't beaten you once yet. How are you so good at this?”

"I'm mediocre. You're just remarkably bad, Shouyou. Remarkably bad."

The kid places his hand over his heart, affronted, but finally turns to Kuroo, bustling with enthusiasm in spite of his apparent loss.

"Hi! I'm Hinata Shouyou!" he bounces, waves, and looks down, "Kenma, I didn't know Tetsurou lived with you?"

Kuroo barks out a laugh, "Technically no, but I probably spend more time here than I do at my own house. And how do you know my name if I don't know yours?"

Kenma's fingers fly across his keyboard, responding to the first half of Kuroo's statement, "It's awful. He won't stop following me around."

Hinata grins, answering the second, "He talks about you a lot!"

"I do not."

"Yes, you do! Yesterday you were showing me the kites he helped make you guys!”

Kuroo fights a heartwarming grin, trying to salvage his reputation in front of his future opponent, "Aw, Kenma, I knew you cared.”

Kenma just sighs, sinking further into his jacket, “I don’t talk about you. Shouyou is just making things up.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” Kuroo clicks his tongue, eyeing the faint blush coloring Kenma’s cheeks.

The gaming marathon comes to a close when the sun finally sets, and Hinata flies out the door, claiming he’s going to try to meet one of his other friends before turning in for the night (before he goes, he throws his arms lightly around Kenma, and to Kuroo’s surprise, he hugs back).

Watching the mop of orange hair through the window, Kuroo glances sideways at Kenma, “He’s a sweet kid. A little energetic for your tastes, though.”

He deems not to answer, which Kuroo is expecting since he’s already spoken more than usual today.

“All right. Well, I’m going to head home. See you at practice tomorrow.”

Kuroo slips on his shoes and heads for the door, but he stops right in the intricate wooden frame.

“Hey, Kenma?”

Somehow sensing the weight dripping from his words, his friend gazes up from his DS, tilting his head.

“Do you really still have those kites?”

Kenma nods, eyes ever-watching, and his fingers drum against the buttons of the device.

Kuroo sticks his hand out the door, “It’s getting dark, but the wind is picking up. Want to take them out for a spin? For old time’s sake.”

Kenma stares at him a moment longer, before silently padding up to his room, and returning with two kites—both dirty, tattered, falling apart, and absolutely _perfect._


End file.
